


The Typewriter

by orphan_account



Category: Katawa Shoujo
Genre: Blindness, Christmas, Friendship, Japan, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Lilly's dorm room, Lilly and Hanako exchange Christmas presents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Typewriter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spirouline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spirouline/gifts).



"It's beautiful, Lilly!", Hanako gasped.  
  
If this had been in Scotland, where Lilly spent most of her childhood Christmases, things would have been quite different. It was no coincidence that so many English gothic romances made mention of the wind howling over the Scottish moors; she found it hard to imagine her aunt and uncle's house without that continual sound, picking up and dying off as the day became night became day, but ever present. Those not used to it might find it eerie, but Lilly found it comforting. Even more comforting were the sounds that joined it in the winter. She liked to think of that house as holding all seasons within it, given how expansive it was, how rambling, sometimes almost feeling infinite—logs cracking in the fireplace, sounding for all the world like leaves and twigs crunched underfoot in autumn; the kettle chirping and then whistling as the water boiled for tea, something like the birds in early spring; the wind itself, which she most strongly tied to summer, running through the highlands, the sun warming her face and her hair rippling behind her; and, finally, the snow. It's not that you heard the snow itself, but it's what you _didn't_ hear; everything outside became muffled, hushed.  
  
But this, of course, was Japan, where the rooms couldn’t be any smaller, rain came in winter more than snow did, the wind never really picked up on the school grounds, but more important than any of that was Hanako, sitting right beside her on the floor of Lilly’s bedroom, gift freshly unwrapped. Lilly felt the present she gave being laid ever so carefully on the floor in front of them, but it was a heavy thing, so it came to rest with a satisfying clunk. Though she thought a bit at first before giving such a heavy present to Hanako, she remembered that her friend was surprisingly strong. It wasn’t just one time that she felt Hanako’s iron grip pulling her away from the path of an oblivious cyclist.  
  
“How does it work?”  
  
Lilly was used to typewriters—her father hung onto his anachronisms, and she liked the weight and feel of the keys enough to have her own custom braille typewriter at her parents’ house—so she showed Hanako how to set it up, in a practiced dance. She flipped up the paper guide—with antiques like these, every part had a nice heft to it—put a fresh sheet of paper behind the roller, and twisting the roller gently, shifted the paper into place, and tightened it up. It took her a long time to learn how to do this so smoothly, but Hanako had a knack for machines, especially computers. She had just started going regularly to the student paper, so Lilly wanted to give her something more permanent than just words on a screen, and a way for her to practice her English.  
  
 _Sitting on the floor_ , she typed, before moving the paper down to the next line and sliding it back into place.  
  
“There we go,” Lilly said, smiling. “The first line of a tanka. Remember, Hanako?”  
  
“Mmm. Five, seven, five, seven, seven, Just like the Tawara Machi poems from class today! But I thought you didn’t like Japanese poetry?”  
  
“That’s why we’re writing in English! You take the next line, Hanako.”  
  
“Oh no, I couldn’t! I’ll mess it up Lily, you finish it.” Hanako shifted uncomfortably beside her.  
  
Lilly shook her head. “Those are the rules! A typewriter is not just a pretty thing, Hanako, it has to be used. I would love to hear your next line.”  
  
Hanako hemmed. And then she hawed. And then, finally, she typed, though with hesitations.  
  
“What does it say, Hanako?”  
  
“… _We open to our presents_. Is that good, Lilly?”  
  
Lilly laughed. “I like it! Though I think it should be ‘We open up our presents.’”  
  
“Ah! I ruined it already!” Lilly could hear a tremble in Hanako’s voice. “How do you erase something on this?”  
  
“No you didn’t! I like this line. And we can’t erase anything right now, without white-out, so it’s just best to leave it and enjoy it for what it is—there is no such thing as a mistake here.”  
  
We open to our presents. Lilly actually found that much more interesting than the grammatically “correct” line would be. We are opened by our presents just as much as we open them up, she thought—we open up ourselves to and through them, laying feelings bare, making relationships into objects, in the hope that even a fraction of our true sentiment shows through. There was a moment of silence, and then Lilly heard Hanako lean forward, roll the paper back, push the roller to the left, and start a new line. As always, Lilly was amazed by how fast she adapted to new mechanisms.  
  
“Your turn, Lilly.”  
  
Lilly nodded, leaned forward, positioned her fingers on the correct keys, and typed.  
  
 _Sitting on the floor_  
  
We open to our presents  
  
Two friends, making words  
  
“There.” Lilly rolled up the paper, and started the next line. “Almost done. Your turn Hanako, another seven syllable line.”  
  
Hanako was quick, this time, and began to type even as Lilly was still speaking. Lilly loved that aspect of her—the quiet determination. A non-ostentatious _ganbaru_ , as they would say in Japanese; trying your very best, not giving up, the dignity of being knocked down and getting back up.  
  
“Done!”  
  
“That was fast. What does it say?”  
  
“ _A cold wind outside, listen_. The teacher said it’s appropriate to include nature, right Lilly?”  
  
Lilly nodded, and then listened. Hanako was right—the wind was picking up, a quiet whistling, the glass panes of the windows shaking ever so slightly. Her breath caught from an unexpected emotion. Suddenly, she was back in the rambling old house on the Scottish moors.  
  
“Are you okay, Lilly?”  
  
Lilly nodded again. “Yes, I am. Just—I remembered something. Something good. And now, we’re making good memories too, aren’t we? I really value your friendship, Hanako. School can be so stressful, with tests and class representatives and silly personal politics.” (An image of cropped blue hair and glasses flashed momentarily into her mind.) “But I can always count on our tea breaks, and our chess games. I’m so glad you could spend Christmas here with me this year—you know, Akira is on that business trip, and I haven’t… I haven’t seen my parents for… six years now.”  
  
She felt her eyes welling up, and cursed herself for it, but Hanako gave her a warm hug and said nothing. _Here I am, complaining about not seeing my parents for a few years, when Hanako will never see hers again._  
“Lilly, you are very important to me too. You don’t know how much. Your family might be far away right now, but I’m your family too.”  
  
Lilly smiled, and blinked away the tears. “Thank you, Hanako.” Then, inspiration. She rolled down the paper, to start the next and final line, and started typing.

_Sitting on the floor_  
 _We open to our presents_  
 _Two friends, making words_  
 _A cold wind outside, listen_  
 _Warmth without a fireplace._

They sat for a moment, not saying anything, but feeling the glow of friendship radiate from their hearts, warming up their fingers and toes as the gusts picked up outside.  
  
“Lilly?”  
  
“Yes, Hanako?”  
  
Lilly felt a large, wrapped box being gently but firmly pressed into her hands.  
  
“Your turn!”


End file.
